‘Let our pride not be your prejudice’
For more than 20 years of my almost seven decades on this planet, I have been a hijabi, or a woman wearing the hijab. The hijab is the scarf that Muslim women wear — it covers not only the head but the chest area as well.
Last Monday, Feb. 1, was World Hijab Day. A Muslim woman from New York, Nazma Khan, started to popularize this day in 2013. Khan was originally from Bangladesh and moved to the United States when she was just 11 years old. She used to be bullied when she went to middle school in the United States for her quite “different” kind of garb, particularly her hijab.
In the Philippines, Muslim women’s groups marked the day with various activities in line with how it was celebrated across 140 different countries in the world. Khan started the celebration to encourage non-Muslim women to wear the hijab for one day to empathize with hijabis.
For this year’s World Hijab Day celebration, the theme was “let our pride not be your prejudice,” putting forward the message that wearing a hijab for a Muslim woman is her source of pride, and should not be a reason for harboring prejudice against her. In the last week of January 2021, 203 members of the House of Representatives voted to pass House Bill No. 8249, or the proposed law declaring Feb. 1 as National Hijab Day. No abstentions or objections were registered against this bill that Rep. Amihilda Sangcopan of the Anak Mindanao party list authored. In the aftermath of this milestone, several netizens posted nasty remarks on social media expressing derision and antagonism about why a religious practice of a minority group (Muslims) is being made the subject of a proposed legislation in a predominantly Catholic country.
The Commission on Human Rights (CHR) was the first government agency to issue a strong statement of support for the proposed law. Through their spokesperson, lawyer Jacqueline de Guia, the CHR said that the proposed National Hijab Day is an opportunity to make non-Muslims understand more deeply the Islamic significance of wearing the hijab and to “demystify” the stigma attached to wearing it and similar attires (like the niqab or full face veil that only shows a woman’s eyes). De Guia added that the hijab is “…not a symbol of oppression, terrorism and lack of freedom, but instead is an act of modesty and dignity among Muslim women.”
I remember the first time I wore the hijab back in 1997. It was just to “comply” with the wishes of a Muslim celebrity who was a favorite interview subject for local journalists in Cotabato City. At that time, I was not yet fully convinced that I should wear the hijab, despite my having converted to Islam several years back, in late 1981. For more than two decades of my life, I was a devout Catholic, from a tightly knit Roman Catholic family in Tagbilaran City, my hometown. (I can still remember that as Student Catholic Action member then, I used to wear the rosary inside my skirt pocket, with the cross part dangling from it.)
Something happened along the way in my life as a hijabi. The more people expressed discrimination against Muslims, the more I was pushed to wear the hijab consciously, and not just perfunctorily. I began to take pride in wearing it, and to experience some feeling of security and empowerment while doing so. Many times, I have found some solace and protection while wearing it, like it has become my source of spiritual strength.
Over the years of being a hijabi, I often hear a lot of nasty remarks, some out of ignorance but others from being prejudiced about what it means to be a hijabi. Like all other hijabis in the world, I continue wearing the hijab to remind myself constantly of my iman (faith) and the need to always be practicing sabar (patience) even in the midst of all the discrimination and prejudice against Muslims as the default “terrorists” in the world.
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